


Hangman, hangman

by a_good_soldier



Series: s15 codas [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandonment, Aftermath of Possession, Angst, Brotherly Love, Consent Issues, Dean Winchester Has Abandonment Issues, Episode: s15e03 The Rupture, Fate, Gen, M/M, Season/Series 15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-04 23:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21205577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_good_soldier/pseuds/a_good_soldier
Summary: Dean’s drinking again in their kitchen. A whiskey Rowena never ended up having, but of course, that’s the least of her tragedy. Or the greatest, if it really is the little things that matter the most.





	Hangman, hangman

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, what a show! Sorry for abandoning you for a year, spn fandom! Here is a tiny work to get back in the swing of things, feat. my feelings about Dean's abandonment issues and Sam's control issues. Also idk what the consensus is about the show these days but I have to give kudos to whoever did the sound for this episode — the music and sound effects were so effective!!
> 
> p.s. my writing muse has basically disappeared so if you have any spn prompts plssss hit me up :)

Dean’s drinking again in their kitchen. A whiskey Rowena never ended up having, but of course, that’s the least of her tragedy. Or the greatest, if it really is the little things that matter the most.

“He left,” Dean says quietly into the table. Honest to God, Sam’s got no idea who he’s talking about for a good ten seconds. Not that he’s forgotten Cas, far from it — it’s just that the idea of Cas leaving, especially _now_, is so incomprehensible that he can’t quite fathom it. Maybe it’s the foggy pain of the God-wound in his shoulder or the mercilessly clear memory of Rowena’s stomach against her own knife, but it takes him a moment to recall all of that mess with their mom, with Cas, with Jack.

And still, even with all that. For Cas to leave — for Cas to leave now, when Dean is hurting, when Dean is curled in on himself — is genuinely unbelievable. Sam has never let Dean push him away, not since the catastrophic mistake that was Stanford. He thought Cas would’ve known better by now — but then again, with the way those two work, maybe not. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s—” Dean shakes his head forcefully, grip tightening around his glass. “I shoulda— whatever.” After a second, he releases the whiskey, hand curling into a fist against the table. “_Fuck_, Sam.”

Sam slides in next to him, looking straight ahead at the kitchen wall, a quiet vigilant companionship. He doesn’t like Dean drinking — hates it, actually, hates every reminder of their father when he surfaces in Dean — but he’ll take it over the casual violence Dean can slip into sometimes when he’s fucked up and angry.

“You want some’n to drink?” Dean asks.

Sam shakes his head. The idea of losing control even a little— and there are the tears threatening at the back of his eyes. Rowena, Rowena, and Dean saying he didn’t have a choice. Didn’t have a choice killing this woman who had become a friend. It hurts. It _hurts_, this thing that he’s done, this thing that his body has done without his consent like every single goddamn memory that lives under his skin. Fate has never been his friend, God, his breathing is coming quicker and his mouth is transforming into an awful, wretched, twisted shape. For all of Lucifer’s pleasure in it, Sam has never found a way to cry beautifully.

“Sam— Sam. Sam.” Dean’s hand on his shoulder like a little beacon to remind him of the outside world.

Sam ducks his head. “I’m sorry, Dean, I can’t— I can’t—” Sam shies away from the air around him, curling into his chest, eyes squeezing shut. “It’s bad, oh God, Dean, I can’t—”

Dean’s hand slides over to his far shoulder, bringing him into his armspan. “C’mere, little brother.” Sam turns and sinks gratefully into Dean’s arms, clutching at his brother’s back with clawing hands. “Shh. Shh, that’s it.” Sam lets the soft cadence of Dean’s lullaby voice wash over him as he hitches out his stifled cries.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean whispers into his hair. “Shhh. It’s okay.”

“It’s— it’s not,” Sam stutters. “It’s not.”

“I know, I know— Sammy, I’m sorry.” Dean’s hand smooths over his back. “I miss her, too.”

“You didn’t— you weren’t the one—” Sam pulls back and wipes the tears off his face forcefully, but Dean keeps his arms around Sam’s shoulders. “Dean, I had to— she— Dean, I’ve never— The things, the things these hands, my hands have done—”

“It wasn’t you, Sam,” Dean tries desperately, “it wasn’t, it never has been.”

“I know. I _know_. That’s the whole pr—” Sam pushes back, stands up. “I’m sorry, Dean, I can’t— I’m sorry about Cas, I am, but I can’t, I can’t do this right now.”

“Okay, okay, that’s fine— Sam—” Dean stands up, too. “Sam, please. I fucked it up, I know, but I can’t— will you at least—” Dean breathes in, sharply, releasing a controlled and powerful breath. “Please,” he whispers, like it’s hard to get out. “Will you stay with me, in the same room, at least? We don’t have to talk, we don’t even have to look at each other, but I can’t—” His voice breaks and Sam watches, somehow numb and terrified at once, as Dean’s throat bobs and his mouth begins to slide into the same pathetic frown that Sam’s does. “You can’t walk away from me right now. Please.”

Sam can sense the terrible sadness in Dean’s heart pushing at his own boundaries, but they hold firm, and anyway, Sam might as well keep some human company now too. “Yeah. Okay, yeah. C’mere.” And, breathing through the snot in his nose, the saltwater on his face, Sam lets Dean lean on him.


End file.
